


Captain Bitchface & Bucky

by bactaqueen



Category: Captain America (Comics)
Genre: M/M, handjobs, no plot though, there's a little bit of schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 16:31:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bactaqueen/pseuds/bactaqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's Face of Stern Disapproval gets Bucky hot and bothered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captain Bitchface & Bucky

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Recognizable characters belong to their respective owners. No profit is earned and no infringement is intended.
> 
> Author’s Note: Bucky's a super useful character and I like him a lot. (I was told I could call this fic Captain Bitchface. So I am.)

Another hand went up in flames between Toro's fingers. Bucky cried out, grabbing the cards and throwing them to the tabletop. He slapped out the flames, glad he'd left his gloves on.

"Stop burning our cards!"

"Stop cheating!"

Bucky scowled. "I don't cheat." He sighed and poked at the cards on the table between them. "That was our last deck," he grumbled. They were stuck inside, waiting on orders that always took too long. The radio didn't work, the Germans didn't bother to bomb this part of Europe with the naughty leaflets they got back in France, and even if it weren't so cold out there, a kid sidekick and flying human torch couldn't exactly wander freely around a Polish camp, not unless they wanted to get shot by Nazi snipers hiding in the trees.

"Good." Toro sniffed. "Now you can't cheat."

"You know, Flame-Boy--" 

The door flew open, banging back against the wall so hard that Bucky heard wood splinter. He winced. There was really only one person who'd come barging in like that. He looked, and he was right: Steve was wearing his Face of Stern Disapproval and it was aimed right at Bucky. 

Of all the things he didn't need... One look at that face and he had to shift in his seat to hide the evidence of what it did to him. Damn the shorts. At least he was pretty sure Steve hadn't noticed. 

Based on the way Toro was snickering, he had no such luck on that front. Bucky shot him a glare. He really didn't want Steve to notice that Toro knew. 

"A word with you, Bucky?" Steve demanded. 

"Sure, Cap." He started to get up, stage-whispering to Toro, "I'm going to get a tongue-lashing."

He wished that was coming in the way he really really wanted it. The way Toro smirked, Bucky wasn't sure if that wishing showed on his face, or if Toro just knew him that well. 

Bucky scowled at him again. "Shut up," he grumbled. He never, ever should have confided in Toro. That was probably his biggest regret. No, that was _definitely_ his biggest regret. 

" _Now_ ," Steve snapped. 

"I'm coming." Bucky glanced up to find Steve glaring at Toro--Toro, who was steadfastly ignoring Steve. Bucky thought his knees were going to give right out on him, and wouldn't that be embarrassing? He grabbed his service coat off his cot and stalked past Steve with all the swagger he could muster, through the door and out into the harsh winter night, shrugging it on. 

Steve followed, slamming the door shut behind him, and then overtook Bucky as if to lead. He didn't have to. Bucky knew where he wanted to go: into the shadows at the back of the long shack the Invaders were using as barracks, far away from everyone else but still safely away from the perimeter and out of the moonlight. Bucky thought that Steve didn't belong in the shadows, not even to chew out a subordinate, but he knew he did. He put his back to the rough wall, tipped his chin, and waited. 

Steve frowned. "You could have gotten hurt, Buck." 

Whenever Steve looked at him like that, Bucky's skin went hot. Even in the cold of winter, he felt flushed. "It's a war, Steve. So could you." 

"I had a plan. I _followed_ the plan." 

"Hey, I had a plan!" Bucky protested. 

" _'Gee, I think I'll sneak back here and stab a few people'_ is _not_ a plan, Bucky." 

It was, too. It wasn't even a bad plan, all things considered. Instead of saying that, though, Bucky said, "Don't look at me like that, Steve. It makes me feel naughty." It made him feel like he wanted whatever punishment Steve wanted to dish out. He had visions of being bent over Steve's lap with his shorts around his knees. 

Those visions really shouldn't have excited him as much as they did. Bucky shifted his weight uncomfortably. 

Steve sighed. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "You _were_ naughty, Buck. You're like a child--" 

Bucky scoffed. Leave it to Steve to miss the innuendo. "I'm nineteen. Do you know what guys back home are doing when they're nineteen?" Not slinking around German camps slitting alien throats, that's for damn sure. 

" _Bucky_." They've had this argument before. 

" _Steve_." At least once a week, by Bucky's count. 

Steve glowered at him. "You took unnecessary risks." He was using his Cap voice. 

That wasn't helping matters. 

Story of his short life, really. "Keep frowning at me like that, Steve, and I'm going to make a mess of these shorts." Bucky shifted his weight, his erection rubbing uncomfortably against the inside of the fly. Why'd they have to be so tight, anyway? 

"Will you be serious?" Steve demanded, exasperated. 

Bucky frowned. He thought he did a pretty good job of being serious. "You think I'd joke about embarrassing myself like that?" What kind of kid did Steve take him for, anyway? 

" _Bucky_." 

It was really much too exciting when Steve said his name like that. "Let it go, Steve. I'm fine. Everyone's fine. We got what we needed and no one knew we were there." He shrugged. "It worked out." And it had worked out pretty damn well, too, if he did say so himself. 

"But what if it _hadn't_?" Steve pressed. 

Because _of course_ he did. One day, Bucky thought, Steve was going to be a dad, and Bucky already felt bad for that poor kid. "Then something else would have." He knew it sounded like the bravado of youth, but he really did believe in Steve and the rest of the Invaders. Even if he'd fucked up, they would have salvaged the mission. "Come on. We did good today." 

"You're not invincible," Steve said, and his face and voice had softened. 

Damn it. Steve didn't have to sound like that. He didn't have to look at him like that, either. Oh, he was _not_ getting choked up. He thrust his chin up, defiant. "Yeah, well, neither are you, pal." 

Steve licked his lips and his eyes flickered down. "Are you really...?" 

Bucky huffed. "I can't help it, all right? Every time you frown at me, I get excited. Something's wired wrong in my brain." 

"Buck..." 

He knew what Steve wanted to say. He knew he wanted to reassure him, that there was nothing wrong with him, blah blah blah. He didn't want the reassurance. "You could help me out," he suggested. 

Steve glanced around them. "What if someone...?" 

Bucky scoffed. "No one's going to come looking for us. Not when _Captain America_ is in one of his _moods_." 

Steve frowned. "One of my moods?" 

"You know. You make _the Face_. No one wants Cap to turn that Face on _them_." 

Steve groaned. 

Bucky grinned at him. "It's not so bad. Gives us time." He reached up to put a hand on the back of Steve's neck and pull him close. Steve met him halfway, parted lips and hot tongue, and Bucky thought they'd burn right through the wall of the shack. "Come on," he panted against Steve's lips, not above begging. "Please?" 

Steve palmed him through the front of his shorts. They gasped together. 

"That's not right, Buck," Steve said, his voice low and husky. 

Bucky pulled at him and shifted his hips forward, seeking the pressure and friction of Steve's gloved hand. "Lecture me later," he muttered. "Right now, you can--" Bucky reached down. He fumbled with his belt and finally got his shorts open. He bit off a groan as Steve slid his hand into the open fly. " _Yes_." 

Steve kissed him. 

Bucky clung to him, using the sturdy straps that secured the shield to his back, and he gave back as good as he got, licking and biting and more than a little desperate. He pulled Steve closer and closer and Steve wrapped one big hand around him and stroked. It didn't matter that he was still wearing his glove, that Bucky couldn't feel that hot skin and those callouses against him. All that mattered was the way Steve smothered him against the wall of the shack, the way Steve knew how to touch him, the way Steve wasn't shy about kissing the breath out of him. 

It didn't last. Bucky didn't want it to and even if he had, he couldn't have held back, not with the way Steve was stroking him. He came, sharp cry muffled by Steve's mouth, and his knees threatened to give out. He was shaking. And as nice as it was to feel the relief of release flood through him, it was nicer when Steve wrapped an arm tight around him and held him up, held him close, until he finished shaking. 

Bucky didn't feel safe very often. Hazard of being an orphan, hazard of the job. But when Steve held him... he knew what safety was. 

And he knew how to return a favor that deserved returning. He slid a hand down from Steve's shoulder, over the star and the stripes and to the front of his shorts. He could feel the line of Steve's erection, hot and hard and straining against the thick fabric. He pressed his own gloved fingertips to the head, expecting the sharp gasp. But Steve just shifted his hips away so Bucky couldn't do more. 

"No," he said, voice thick. 

Bucky grunted. "Oh, don't be like that. You don't have to be so sacrificing all the damn time." 

Steve gave a breathless little laugh. "It's not like that." He kissed Bucky's head. "I need to go talk to the generals." 

"And that's more important?" Bucky was glad he wasn't in charge. He couldn't imagine having to sit down with generals with a tent pole in his pants. 

"No, but I don't have much choice." Steve kissed him again. "Later," he promised, voice lower. 

Bucky shivered. "I'll hold you to it." 

"Aw, Buck, you can hold me to whatever you like." 

Bucky rolled his eyes and was glad the shadows hid the flush of shy pleasure on his face. "Don't be a sap, Steve." 

Steve didn't say anything. He just dipped his head and kissed Bucky one more time, slow and hot. And if Bucky clung a little too hard, well, Steve was the only one who'd ever know.

 

***

 

Bucky hated debriefings. 

It wasn't that he didn't understand their value. He did. He just didn't care about the value when he was slumped alone in an empty conference room, sore and under orders not to leave because someone else wanted to see him. He was trying to be good. He was really trying to be good, because Steve would be good and as long as Bucky wore the star on his chest and carried the shield, he needed to be as good as Steve. All he really wanted was to go home. He wanted a hot shower, microwaved leftovers, and twelve hours in his bed. 

Well, Steve's bed. 

He didn't want much. 

Sore muscles and mending bones be damned, Bucky couldn't sit still anymore. He heaved himself up and started pacing around the conference table. He owed Stark a bloody nose over the suit. Designed to absorb impact, his ass... He was going to have so many new bruises in the morning. He limped toward the angled windows on the exterior bulkhead of the helicarrier. All he could see was sky. Clouds below, fading blue above. The whole world--the world he was still working to save--was reduced to that. 

He scowled at his transparent reflection. All right, so he was getting a bit morose. He hadn't seen Steve in a while and he felt like he was failing at the whole Captain America thing. 

And everyone kept calling him _Bucky Cap_. He _really_ hated that. 

The door behind him opened. Bucky stiffened, instinct and pride, and turned. And then he stiffened in an altogether different way, because Steve was filling the doorway, and he was frowning. 

Bucky wasn't quite sure what to do with that. He was beyond glad to see Steve--safe, even, from the looks of it. And of course he was turned on by that frown and the wrinkle between his eyes. He was a little ashamed, too, because he knew what was coming and how many times had they had this conversation? During their war and since he'd been back. He'd lost count. 

No matter how much things changed, some things never did. 

"Hi, Steve." 

Steve shut and locked the door behind himself. "What were you thinking, Buck?" 

He grinned. "You should know by now that I wasn't." 

Steve just looked at him, mouth turned down and brows drawn together. 

Bucky shifted his weight, uncomfortable now from more than just the muscle aches and the new galaxy of bruises on his flesh-and-bone parts. "I told you to stop looking at me like that." 

Steve's lips twitched. "This isn't the time. Or the place." 

Bucky glanced at the door. "I don't know, we're alone, you're just back from..." He frowned at Steve. "Wherever you're back from. Where'd you go?" 

"That's classified." 

Bucky rolled his eyes. 

Steve shook his head, sighing. "You have to plan--" 

"I did plan!" He'd had a plan before he'd jumped! It just... hadn't been a complete plan. Or a very good one. He'd gotten the job done, though. At least he got results. 

"All the way through," Steve said pointedly. 

"That's no fun." 

Steve's frown deepened. "This isn't a game." 

Bucky shrugged. "I know that. But, look, I'm all right. See?" Bucky rotated his shoulders and lifted and dropped his arms. His hand strayed to the front of his pants almost of its own accord. "All my parts work." 

Steve sighed. "Bucky..." 

"Don't, Steve. You know what that does to me." Seventy years later, all Steve had to do was frown and Bucky was trained like one of Pavlov's dogs. He thought he should be embarrassed, but when it came to Steve, he had no shame. He pouted. "And if you're not going to take care of it..." 

"Haven't you grown up at all?" 

Bucky grinned. "Nope." 

Steve kept frowning. 

Bucky sighed dramatically. "That's it, that's the look. Now come on over here..." 

Steve sighed, the long-suffering sigh of a man who'd lost a familiar battle. "We should go home." 

"You locked the door, right? We're fine." He met Steve's eyes. "I missed you." 

He'd learned--from the therapists, and Natalia, and from Steve himself--how potent simple honesty could be when it came to Steve. That honesty was what did it, too. Steve came around the conference table. Bucky forgot how fast he could move when he wanted to. Steve crowded him back against the bulkhead between windows. Bucky curled his fingers around the leather straps at Steve's shoulders and hauled him closer. Steve put one hand on the bulkhead and one hand on Bucky's waist, and Bucky had only a moment to anticipate before Steve's mouth was on his. 

"I missed you, too," Steve mumbled against his lips. 

Bucky lived for these kisses, the slow deep ones stolen in conference rooms and shared in the home they lived in together, the ones he could even give in public if he wanted because no one would shoot them or beat them. He liked them when they came after long separations. He liked that he could always count on them, because now he believed Steve would always return to him. 

Because now he believed he'd always return to Steve. 

"Come on, Steve." He pulled him closer and rocked his hips forward. 

Steve chuckled. "Still the same Bucky," he murmured, and slid a hand down Bucky's front to rub his palm over the line of Bucky's cock inside the pants. 

Bucky hissed. "Yep." He tried to thrust against Steve's hand. He needed the pressure of bare fingers and the padded palm of the shooting glove. "Can't help it," he mumbled. "You frown and I'm sixteen again. No control." 

Steve slipped his hand in through the front seal of Bucky's pants and wrapped fingers around his cock. He started to stroke, slow and firm. Bucky shut his eyes and dropped his head back and held on. Steve knew just how to touch him, how to pull and how to squeeze. 

"There's something wrong with you, Buck." Steve smiled against his jaw as he said it. 

Bucky shuddered. His fingers clenched around leather straps. "Lots wrong with me, buddy. Don't stop." 

Steve's smile widened. Bucky thought that was almost as good as the hand on his cock. Almost. Steve kissed his mouth and his neck and scraped his teeth the length of Bucky's jaw, and Bucky found himself glad for the support of the bulkhead and Steve's steady arm around him. He worked him fast and Bucky came quickly--he always did, even now; he really couldn't help it. He muffled his shout against Steve's shoulder just before his whole body went pleasantly boneless. 

He still got the best part, too. Steve's arm tightened around him and Steve hitched him closer, holding him firmly until his knees stopped shaking and his breath evened out. He untangled one hand from one leather strap and slid his fingers down, over Steve's chest, his belly, to cup him through the dark blue pants. 

Steve kissed him. "Let's go home," he murmured. 

Bucky smiled. "Did you remember the lube? We're still out." 

Steve pulled back to scowl at him. "You're the one who's been home. You couldn't stop at the pharmacy?" 

"Home!" Bucky gaped. "I was--" 

Steve silenced him with a kiss. Bucky hooked his hands back into the leather shoulder straps and decided they'd just have to stop at the pharmacy _and_ the diner on the way home.


End file.
